The Seven Moons
by galactic platypi
Summary: The Doctor really should just give up on planning. 11/Clara Whouffle fluff, crack-fic, read at your own risk.


It was clear that the Doctor was up to something. Then again, he always was. Old and wise he may be, but subtle? Definitely not. It hadn't taken her long to figure out what he was planning: a surprise party for her birthday next month. The trouble was that he had no idea how to plan a birthday party. In the kitchen one morning she found the remnants of 12 different kinds of cake batter, everything from carrot cake made mostly of real carrots to steak-flavored. She assumed it was supposed to be steak-flavored anyway. She would stumble upon the occasional party hat in the corridor or bathroom, bizarrely. The coat closet nearest the door was suddenly full of streamers which she obligingly pretended not to see. Once she heard him muttering to himself what present to get her.

He was so hopeless that she decided to give him a bit of help. One day, she replaced all the odd cake ingredients with baking chocolate, hoping he would take that as a hint for _proper_ cake flavors. Another day, she slipped a travel brochure in his coat pocket when he wasn't watching. She'd always wanted to see the Alps. She casually mentioned that she had lost one of her favorite necklaces, despite the fact that it was hanging around her neck at the very moment.

After a month's worth of hints, Clara hoped The Doctor got the idea. She supposed she'd have to wait and see. 

On the morning of her birthday (although, technically, there was no such thing as morning on the TARDIS… or dates, either, for that matter – but the morning of her birthday nevertheless), Clara woke to the disconcerting sight of a Time Lord three inches from her face.

"Good morning!" he grinned. "Ready to go? Lots to do today!"

Clara stared at him.

"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked.

The Doctor shifted sheepishly. "What time is it?"

"I don't know."

"Well… seven hours, fifteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds… give or take."

"That's nice to know."

By this point, Clara was well accustomed to the Doctor's quirks. Him watching her sleep didn't even register on the scale anymore. She was pretty sure he just had nothing else to do.

"So. The thing. Ready?"

"No. Showering. Dressing."

"Oh…" The Doctor wrinkled his nose, as if such things were just her being obstinate and making him delay his Really Very Exciting Indeed PLANS. With all of the capitals. "Right. You do that and THEN to the thing!"

Clara took the quickest shower of her life and then went to the console room. There, she found the Doctor fiddling with controls he probably didn't know how to work. It was probably all for show anyway; she was _certain_ that the TARDIS didn't have _that_ many relevant buttons and switches.

"So what is this _thing_ exactly?" she asked.

"Oh? What's this?" The Doctor scurried from the TARDIS to what looked like a river…made of chocolate. "What a magnificent formation!"

Clara stifled a smile; she could see plastic wrap coming up from the river's shores a few paces away. "Is that a chocolate river? Really?"

The Doctor dipped a single pinky finger into the chocolaty current and tasted it. "Oh yes it is!"

He really had gone to amazing lengths, then – and he'd definitely got the hint about chocolate. But, just for the sake of it, she asked innocently, "Is this a candy planet, then? Is the dirt made of cookie crumbs and such?"

The Doctor laughed. "No! That would be absurd!"

Clara folded her arms. "Doctor, did you make a chocolate river?"

The Doctor glanced away quickly. "That would be equally absurd, wouldn't it, Clara? I mean, I would have to be a madman to build a chocolate river for – no reason whatsoever."

That was a yes, then.

Once the Doctor finished his rambling, grabbed her hand and led her along the river. Clara thought she heard him mumble about being late for something and supposed that there was something at the end of this walk.

Clara tipped her head back and stared up at the sky. It was one of the most spectacular things she had ever seen: seven moons lined up in a perfect arc and green ribbons of fire, almost exactly like the Northern Lights except that she was fairly sure they were in the east, playing around and between them.

"There's a wonderful story about the moons, you know," the Doctor said, noticing where she was looking.

"Go on, then." Clara leaned into him slightly.

"The natives here say that the moons were once a mortal woman, long ago when the world was young. Those lights, there, those are a god. Can't pronounce his name. Closest translation I can think of is Sparkie. Anyway, he fell in love with this mortal woman – don't know her name, let's call her Louise. Their love burned so brightly that, following Newton's Third Law, the universe compensated by creating the Darkness. So far as I know, it's like a big alligator made out of shadows and whatnot, but they don't talk about it much. Anyway, the Darkness, rather obviously, targeted Sparkie because – well, Darkness, god of lights, two and two makes four."

Clara nodded in hopes of hurrying him along the rest of the story.

"Well, Louise was understandably upset, poor girl, so she set about talking to Mother Sky. That's their main deity, here. She made a deal with Mother Sky and became the planet's first moon. Her job was to come between Sparkie and the Darkness and safeguard her boyfriend. But one moon wasn't enough and so she split herself into seven – all a little bit different, but all part of the same woman. Sparkie was now safe, but of course the consequence was that the lovers tended to be separated. Sparkie only ever got to see three sevenths of his girlfriend at a time and so on. Mother Sky took pity on them and arranged it so that, every twenty years, all seven moons would line up and the two would be reunited for a night. The lights are always brighter on these nights, you know."

The Doctor fell silent, gazing deep into her eyes. Clara looked up at him, a little bit breathless, a little bit misty eyed. He couldn't be saying what she thought – right? She didn't remember _much_ from her stint gallivanting up and down his timeline, but she remembered enough to see the similarities. Could he really be saying –

"Of course, it's all rubbish."

No. He couldn't.

"The sky isn't sentient, of course, and the lights are just, you know, things going a bit wonky in the atmosphere, and the moons _obviously_ didn't come from the same supermoon – but it's a nice story."

"Yeah," Clara agreed, doing what she could to mask her disappointment. "A nice story."

The Doctor instantly changed the subject by reminding her of 'the thing' they had to attend.

"What is this 'thing', then? You never did say."

"Oh, you'll see!" He was as chirpy as an excited schoolboy. Clara smiled indulgently and mentally ran through what sort of surprised expression she should make when they arrived at her birthday party.

The Doctor ordered her to close her eyes, but then came around and covered them with his hands anyway. He almost shook with excitement. "This part's the surprise."

Clara heard a sort of shuffling, snorting kind of noise. A gruff little voice whispered: "Do we _have_ to do this?"

The Doctor shushed the speaker. They took a few more steps and then he uncovered her eyes with a flourish. "Ta-da!" he announced triumphantly. Clara opened her eyes, preparing her surprised face, but never quite managed to get there before going very still.

The – well – the thing in front of her – well, it was white, and pink, and sort of purple in places, and every color of the rainbow. There were flowers and brightly colored birds, which appeared to be made of spun sugar, and those weird swirly drizzles made of dry chocolate, and strings of pearls which she assumed were also chocolate. On the top of the – well, it – was a fondant replica of herself, pouring chocolate into the river.

"It's… a cake," Clara said. There was no need for her to _feign_ surprise.

"Not just any cake. _The _cake! _Your _cake!" He waltzed forward, quickly admiring his own creation before whirling around to see her reaction. "Happy birthday, Clara!"

Before Clara could make another comment, two lines of little – potato gnomes with mushrooms on their heads trundled around the cake.

"Ready guys?" The Doctor asked, receiving a number of varying responses from the potatoshroom gnomes. He stood before them, arms held out like a well-seasoned maestro about to conduct his greatest symphony.

The potatoshrooms began to sing _Happy Birthday_. The weird thing was that each one could only, apparently, sing one note – and they lit up when they sang. The mushroom caps on their heads glowed blue or green or pink, depending on which one was singing. A tiny potatoshroom in the middle of the line sang the high note, glowing bright yellow as it did so. It was quite the spectacle. Clara applauded when the last note had been sung, although she was only half sure that the appropriate reaction wasn't wild laughter.

A particularly plump potatoshroom grunted, his cap glowing green, "Can I go home now?" his little, but rough voice grumbled.

"Yes, yes, Stewart, you may go now." The Doctor replied, shooing the potatoshroom off, "And tell Mildred and the kids I said hello!"

The Time Lord rubbed his palms together, "Now for the cake…" he said as he approached the massive and frosted monstrosity.

"Plates?" Clara inquired.

"Plates…" The Doctor patted his jacket down, searching. Out of his seemingly bottomless pockets were a yo-yo, a teddy bear, a muddy (or possibly chocolaty) trowel, scotch tape, a trashy romance novel, and myriad other odds and ends… but no plates.

"Spoons? Forks? Knife to cut it with?"

The Doctor patted down his pockets again, as if hoping their contents would have changed. "Apparently not, no."

The only option, really, was to use their hands. It was a good cake, despite its – well – there was more frosting than cake, really, and the amount of sugar in the frosting made Clara feel quite sick to her stomach, but really, it was good. They were both covered in pink frosting within moments and queasy within the hour. As they lay on the soft grass, taking a break from the cake quest by basking in the moonslight, the Doctor rummaged in his pocket again and then pressed a velvet box into her hand.

"Happy Birthday," he said warmly, smiling that slightly awkward but very endearing smile of his. Clara shifted to a somewhat-seated position and opened the box. Her breath caught: he'd bought her _jewelry_ – a gorgeous sapphire necklace with matching bracelet and earrings!

"They're beautiful," she breathed.

"They taste good, too."

Clara blinked.

"Ey?"

"Made of sugar, they are. They're made so you can wear them to a party, fancy as you like, and then have a snack on the way home. Height of fashion in Terinopolis."

Truly, the Doctor was not made for planning.

But despite that, it was possibly the best birthday she'd ever had.

"Doctor, why are there thirty candles?"

"Um…"

"I'm _twenty-five._"

"Oops."


End file.
